


Atlas Hands

by bravest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, castiel/others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 01:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravest/pseuds/bravest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel makes a decision, but he knows where his heart belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atlas Hands

After three long days, Cas finds his way back to the bunker. He finally comes home, and then, much too soon, he leaves.

Castiel had thought that returning home would mean finding peace. He thought finding his family, the one he'd chosen, would help him with the tumultous feelings of anger and guilt and responsibility that were eating at him. Somehow, he had thought seeing Sam and Dean safe and sound would alleviate them.

It doesn't. It had been foolish of him to think so, and he should have known better. He had wanted, so badly, to find comfort in them, but every minute spent at the bunker is a minute worrying about his fallen brothers and sisters, is a minute restless and eager to go and  _fix things_ , is a minute filled with seething anger at Metatron for using him this way, is a minute of anger at himself for falling for it.

Sam and Dean do their best, the first day. They cook him a feast, they teach him poker and play with Kevin. They keep his mind off of things, but it isn't enough. Dean keeps looking at him, when he thinks Castiel isn't paying attention. He feels his gaze like knives, and they burden his shoulders, make him feel like he has to behave a certain way for them to think he's okay, for them not to  _ask_.

The first night, Dean says he can have his bed. It's late, and Dean is changing the sheets as he talks. It's nothing important, he's talking to fill the silence, and Castiel only half listens. He watches, however, the practiced ease with which Dean works with the sheets. Castiel thinks of the number of times a person changes their sheets in a lifetime, and realises he has never done it himself.

"Can I help?" He asks Dean, and Dean stops talking and nods, handing him a pillow.

"Yeah, sure. Change the pillow first," he says. "Then you can help me with the rest."

They fix up the bed exchanging few words. Things like "tuck that part in over there", and "hold this up for me". It's a tedious task, but Castiel likes it. It's work; he likes work. He's been in movement since the day he fell, finding his way back here, and he doesn't want to rest. He doesn't want to sit and wait.

He needs to do something. Already, he feels a pressure, a push to go out of those doors and  _seek_ ,  _find_ ,  _retribute_.

That night, he sleeps on Dean's bed. Despite the changed sheets, he can smell him in them. His chest aches, feels heavy, and he curls up as small as he can under the blankets as he lets sleep take him fully. For the first time, he doesn't resist it.

He wakes to the smell of eggs and bacon, to voices drifting down the hall. Things that should have made him smile, but instead fill him with a discomfort he can't describe. Dean and Sam talk to him just fine, but he feels something rippling under the surface of their bond, waiting to snap. Maybe it's just him, in which case he has another reason to keep walking. To make this a temporary pit stop, to gather himself before the real stuff begins.

The rest of the day is a blur. Dean gets him some fresh clothes, shows him to the showers. They go get some groceries, and when Dean asks him what he wants, that they can figure out what he likes as they go, he doesn't have the heart to tell him not to bother, that he'll be gone in a day at the most. Dean must read it on his face; he stops asking, his enthusiasm faded and muted for the rest of their errands.

They don't talk about it. Not the weird weight between them, the burned bridge that separates them. There's an elephant in the room when they're together, causing Sam and Kevin to leave them alone more often than not, to respect that they might want to talk to each other, privately. Even then, they say nothing of what matters, only share long gazes and brief fleeting touches, dance around each other. The weight is crushing and Castiel wants to go, to figure out what it even means to him to be human before getting into this. He doesn't want to be a broken man when they finally take that step. He wants to be the best  _him_  he can be for Dean, and right now, he isn't.

It's time for bed again, and Dean is in his room picking out clean sleeping pants for himself as Castiel sits on the mattress. Dean was right, it's soft, malleable, and it remembers his shape.

"Dean," Cas says softly before he slips out of the room.

"Yeah, Cas?" 

"Stay for a minute?" He asks, and Dean nods and sits next to him, frowning.

"What's up? You okay?"

It takes a moment for Castiel to think about that. No, he doesn't think he is okay, not by the standard definition. He is shaken, feels out of place, is scared and angry. There's so much for him to learn, and as much as he loves Dean and Sam, learning from them is a bad idea. Cas is sure they would be great at teaching him the few delicate things he doesn't yet know or understand about being human, the blood and sweat of it, but it's not right. 

He doesn't want to tie himself to the Winchesters in such a permanent way. He doesn't want to put them at risk, either, feeling in his gut that some of the angels will be looking for him, and not all of them will greet him with smiles. Really, he fears getting too attached, being tied down, being  _grounded_  so soon. To rely on them so much is not the kind of relationship he wishes to harbor with the Winchesters, and as much as it breaks his heart to know this, he has to leave.

"No, Dean, I think..." He trails off, dreading this moment. Dean will encourage him, most likely, as they have no use for him at the moment. Slipping away when he isn't looking, though, seems unfair and disloyal. Things have changed, and their relationship is at a strange standstill, but leaving without a word is not what he wants to convey. He isn't sneaking off, he is seeking answers, brothers and sisters, himself. Seeking humanity, to be thrust in the grit of it, by himself. He will stumble and he will fall, but he'll get back up; and when he's ready, he can, if Dean grants it, return home to them. He takes a deep breath, gathers courage, and speaks the words:

"I think I should leave."

Dean stills, lets out a slow exhale, and then nods. The room is quiet, but not empty. The air between them is filled with the things neither of them are willing to say, things that make them feel vulnerable, that would expose them.

"Okay. Yeah, okay," he says simply, and Cas avoids his gaze. Picks at a bug bite on his arm instead.

"I... It has nothing to do with you, or Sam. You two have made me feel very welcome here," he says. It's true, they have both made it clear that this is a home for him if he wishes it to be, but he's useless and angry and nothing good will come of him festering here just because it's easy.

"This sounds like that time at the bar," Dean says under his breath, running a hand over the stubble at his jaw. Cas nods.

"It's goodbye again, of a sort." He realises as he says this that he does not want to tell Dean whether he'll be back or not. He could die, he's human now, with all their vulnerabilities, and one day he might fall down a set of stairs or be in a car accident. He shouldn't promise anything, because he has no way of knowing what will happen out there. He  _wants_  to come back, eventually, but even that could change in the long run.

"Cas, this time, for the love of -- of whatever it is, call if you need us, okay? I'll give you our phone numbers, all of them, and if there's anything, anything at all -- "

Dean is looking at him with one of those looks that make Castiel feel so big, so important, even now. When Dean looks at him he is always  _more_ , even bigger than the Chrysler building.

"I know. Thank you, Dean. I will." 

He won't. If he is going to do this, it has to be all the way. He has to see this through by himself, and calling Sam and Dean would be too easy, too simple. Dean's hand comes to his knee, patting it, and the gesture feels odd and out of place, too close to the lines they've been skirting for the past 24 hours.

He says goodbye to Sam first. He's engulfed in a tight, all encompassing hug.

"Take care of yourself, Cas. If you need anything at all, we're not gonna be too far," he says, before letting go. His hands rest on Castiel's shoulders, heavy and welcome. "He's going to miss you," he says, and Castiel doesn't need to ask who he means. He nods.

"Thank you, Sam. Be careful," he says, and then he leaves the library to head to the door. Dean is waiting there, with a backpack.

"Though you could use a starter kit," he says, and Cas smiles weakly. It's sweet of Dean, and he appreciates the gesture. "Our number's in there, and there's snacks and some cash and clothes and stuff," he says, and Cas takes the bag from him.

"Thank you," he says, and Dean shrugs and looks away.

"Guess this is it," he mutters, and Castiel nods. Their eyes meet, and then they're pulling each other into a hug, so harshly that Castiel can't tell who initiated it. They hold on tight, arms around shoulders, and he can feel Dean's face press against his shoulder. All of it says  _I'll miss you so much, Cas_ , and Cas hugs back as best as he can, tries to convey  _Me too, Dean, I'll miss you too_.

They pull away and exchange one last gaze. Dean's jaw is set, his lips thin before he nods.

"Alright, then. Good luck out there, buddy," he says, giving his shoulder a last squeeze before pulling away. He gives Castiel a small smile that he knows is a construct.

"Goodbye, Dean," he says, and he hears the way Dean's inhale shakes and he leaves before anything else can be said.

It's surprisingly simple, to put one foot outside and then the next. He walks without looking back, down the curved road that spreads out into the field. It's a simple thing, and yet every footstep relieves him of that weight, of the feeling of being trapped. Once he finds his way to the main road, he's whistling. Once he reaches the first buildings, he's smiling to himself.

It's months before he returns to the bunker. By then he has gotten rid of his overcoat, his shoes have been worn to the sole and replaced, his hair is a little longer, but just as messy as usual. He has ID, papers an identity. He's worked jobs, met people, fought fallen angels, befriended some. He has, in fact, been building himself a small army of them, and they wait for him in town.

He's nervous when he gets to the door, afraid that Dean won't let him in, or that the Winchesters will have moved on. The Imapala is there, however, and she clicks as her engine cools. He drags a hand on the hood of the car and feels it's warmth, concludes that they must just have returned from somewhere.

Sure enough, he only has to knock once before the door swings open. It's Sam, and Dean is behind him, standing next to a red head whose mouth drops open.

"Holy Batman. Is that who I think it is?"

"Cas," Dean says, and there's so much relief in there, so much more than just his name being spoken.

"Hello, Dean," he says, before turning to Sam. "Hi, Sam."

"Hey man," Sam says with a grin, and a clap to his back.

"I'm Charlie," the girl with the red hair says, and Castiel holds out his hand.

"Castiel," he says, and they shake hands as she grins at him.

"I know. I've heard lots about you."

"Have you?" Castiel raises an eyebrow, and the way Dean is purposefully avoiding his gaze tells him enough.

They usher him inside, and Castiel likes Charlie right away. She's bright and happy and excited about things, and she's as much part of their family as Castiel is. She fits, and Sam and Dean look at her with fondness and love. Dean keeps looking at him too, but doesn't say much as he makes dinner. Cas offers to help, but Dean tells him to sit his ass down, and he doesn't argue.

Later, they end up on the small section of straight roof of the bunker. The field spreads below them, the lights of the city lightening the horizon. There's a soft breeze, and the sun is well into setting as they take a seat at the edge of the roof itself. They're quite, both of them nursing a beer, and Castiel is glad to be home. He has learned so much in his time away, and has to admit there were days where he didn't think about the Winchesters or the bunker at all, but this is where he belongs, and he knows it.

He has worked hard, gathered angels and information, and he thinks with his family, the real one and the one he chose, the one forged through apocalypse, blood and circumstances, he can put things right.

"I've experienced humanity, Dean, for the first time. What it really means to be human, and not from a distance. I've been there,  _in it_ , and it changes one's perspective," he says. He speaks first, breaking the comfortable silence between them. "I've felt things, eaten things, been sick and injured, fought, worked jobs, had sex...all of those things."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up, and there's the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Castiel doesn't have to ask what he's thinking, and besides, Dean gets right to the point.

"So, how was it? Not bad, huh? Kinda makes being human worth it," Dean says, a crooked grin plastered on his face.

"She was lovely," Cas says with a small smile, remembering the woman's hair falling over her shoulders, her smile and her laugh. "Her husband was also charming. He was very gentle," he adds, lifting his head to look up at the darkening sky, swinging his feet hanging off the edge of the roof.

"Her...wait, did you..." Dean stammers, and Cas laughs, throat bared, before turning his head toward Dean.

"Have a threesome with a married couple? Yes, Dean. That's exactly what happened," he says, grinning, eyes twinkling. It was a good experience to look back on, and he had the couples' number in his cheap phone. They wanted to keep in touch, and Castiel considers them to be good friends.

Dean whistles, looking impressed.

"Um, good job, I guess."

"I think they misunderstood me when I said I had never done this before, but they were sweet. They are very much in love, and it was a gift to be allowed to witness that and share it with them," Cas explains, his gaze locked on Dean, who looks uncomfortable. Castiel doesn't look away and neither does Dean. He clears his throat, but Castiel keeps talking.

"There's so much love in the world, Dean. It's hard to see sometimes, it blurs and things get out of focus, but it's there," he says, and he hopes Dean understands what he's saying, what he means. He's seen horrors, terrible things, violence and pain and suffering, but he's seen love too, and selflessness. People helping him out of the goodness of their heart, offering him a meal or a place to stay, without asking for anything in return. He's seen such goodness, and he keeps his heart and mind focused on that, on the fact that not only are humans capable of being good, but also on the miracle that they  _choose to be_.

And Dean is goodness, he is filled with it, with love for humanity, for others. He gives so much, all the time, rarely takes anything for himself, and Castiel is going to teach him, right now, that he can. He should.

That he deserves it.

Castiel is going to teach him, however long it takes, that he's worthy of love, too, and his hand reaches for Dean's, their fingers lacing together as he gives it a squeeze.

"Cas?" Dean asks, frowning at their hands, looking up startled and like he's not quite sure how to react or what to say. Castiel wonders if he'd been thinking about this, if he'd been thinking about it when they were apart.

"We shouldn't let it go to waste," he breathes, and when he tugs on his hand, Dean lets him lift it and bring it to his lips. He kisses Dean's knuckles, rubs a thumb along a streak of freckles. Dean's not breathing, but when Castiel raises his eyes to his again, he's smiling a little, head ducked, as if trying to hide it.

"Man, who taught you how to romance someone? They did a good job," he jokes, laughs a little awkwardly, and Castiel smiles.

"This is just for you. I know I've hurt you, and I've made mistakes, but hopefully...hopefully it doesn't change how you feel," he says, and it's his turn to duck his head, to look down at their hands. Dean's fingers squeeze around his, and then there's a hand at his chin, lifting his head up.

"I did some shitty things too," he says, leaning in. His fingers are still on his chin, and they slide to brush at his jaw. His eyes keep flicking to Castiel's lips, and there's a flutter in Cas' stomach every time. "S'part of being human, right? Making mistakes," he says, and Cas nods.

Anticipation crowds around them as both their lips part, and then they're both moving forward at the same time. Their lips meet and Cas blindly puts his beer down so his hand can grasp at Dean's wrist instead, so it can clutch at his jacket and pull him close, and he feels no shame for the sound he makes when Dean's tongue meets his own.

There's nothing to be ashamed of, and when they pull away they're both breathless and flushed. They press their foreheads together, and Dean laughs, incredulous.

"Fuck, this is crazy," he breathes, nosing at Castiel's cheek. His stomach flutters again, his heart beating hard inside his chest. It's another human thing, but he's found no one that makes it beat as hard as Dean does.

"Is crazy bad?" He asks, faces pressed so close they're breathing each other's air.

"No, fuck no, not with you," he says, and then they're kissing again, hard and needy and hands letting go only to fumble at each other, everywhere.

Dean doesn't ask him to stay, so Castiel does.


End file.
